


Superego

by villaindecay



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Forced Submission, M/M, Mind Control, Panic Attacks, Pseudoscience, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, mentions of vomiting, non-consensual hypnosis, yes I know how hypnosis works this is all really accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 13:52:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villaindecay/pseuds/villaindecay
Summary: After a sensational kidnapping case one suspect is arrested and awaiting interrogation. The desperate police department consults a hypnotherapist who ensures them he'll get the criminal to confess within the next 24 hours.





	Superego

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chicago_ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/gifts).



> Special thanks to my Beta "L".  
> Without you I wouldn't be able to publish anything at all.  
> You're heaven sent and you improve all of my works at least 120%!
> 
> And thanks to my amazing match for being inspiring,  
> I loved all of your prompts so much!  
> This was very hard to write, still I hope you find it somewhat enjoyable.  
> Lots of love!

"SUSPECT ARRESTED FOR PALMER KIDNAPPING"

Read the headline of the front page article. After paying his 15 cents for the newspaper, he skimmed through it on the way back to his car. There was nothing in it that he didn't already know of course, the police tried their best to keep all of the details of the case hidden from the public. Suspect was arrested while shopping for groceries which indicates that they're feeding the hostage, keeping it alive and well. Not that he cared. Whether or not some rich brat was freed from her captors or not was none of his concerns and definitely not the reason he had agreed to help with this case.

Of course there was no talk of his involvement. Most of the general public didn't even believe in psychotherapy, so the usage of hypnotherapy in this rather tricky situation would've caused a nationwide uproar. He had been instructed to keep this 'touchy' subject to himself, and naturally that went without question.

As Dr. Werther started the engine of his vehicle, leaving the newspaper article on the seat behind him, he threw one last glance at the picture on the cover. The reporters had gotten a photograph of the suspect, a young man named Ronnie DeMeo. Allegedly, he was part of the group of kidnappers that were demanding a 13$ million dollar ransom for the release of their hostage: 10-year old Donna Palmer, daughter of the multi-millionaire Edward Palmer, who owned a reputable record label. The family members themselves had only recently come to fame over the past few weeks though, as this extraordinary kidnapping case had left the nation in shock and every media outlet in the country occupied.

As of now, Edward Palmer was seemingly unwilling to pay the outrageous sum, but Dr. Werther hoped to hear more from the chief of police once he’d arrived at the police department. The suspect looked to be a man in his mid-20s. The picture didn't show much of the face – the man had clumsily tried to hide it behind a piece of cardboard – but the parts that were visible, showed nothing more than an average, troubled teen with anger in his eyes.

He would get a closer look on his new patient soon enough, Dr. Werther thought. Was it even appropriate to call him a patient in this case? Since this would be more of an 'alternative interrogation' than a therapy session. Hopefully the policemen on-site would be cooperative. The chief had not sounded entirely convinced when he had asked Dr. Werther to perform his ‘hypno-magic' on the 'little punk'. He certainly still didn’t look convinced when Dr. Werther pulled into the driveway of the police department. It was more a look of desperation, and Dr. Werther couldn't say that it particularly suited the rough looking man.

"As always, just on time. Isn’t that what they usually say about the Ger-" The approaching policeman was cut off mid-sentence by Dr. Werther rolling down the window of his vehicle. "Good morning, chief Daniels. I do firmly believe that punctuality is a virtue not exclusive to one nationality or the other, though I appreciate the compliment."

He stepped out of the car and the chief mumbled a sharp "Wasn't a compliment" under his breath as he gestured towards the entrance of the building. The doctor spoke with an impatience in his voice."Have you already started interrogating the suspect?" He walked ahead through the hallways of the Police Department. He knew the building well, as he had assisted the police in a few cases before, though never through the use of hypnotherapy.

Chief Daniels had a mild annoyance in his voice, as if he truly didn't like were this was going. "Not really. We tried to get him to tell us the location of the hostage – of course that didn't work. You know the rest.", the man answered curtly.  
Whether the chief had a personal problem with Dr. Werther or he was just suspicious of his occupation as a psychotherapist, he didn't seem to make a secret out of his hostility.

The therapist suspected that the reason they had contacted him in the first place was probably some sort of pressure from the outside. Desperate times call for desperate measures, didn’t they? Still, he wanted to make sure this was happening on _his_ terms.

"I’m assuming you did what I asked you to do. The preparations? No cameras, no guards, no interruptions, right?"  
The chief tried to catch up with the doctor's hasty pace. Usually, it would have been way too risky to ask for such measurements to take place, but Dr. Werther suspected that the Palmer family and whoever was associated with them had the police tight in their clutches. Surely they’d be willing to do anything to rescue their little girl as soon as possible.

Still, there was mistrust in the chief's voice when he answered. "Of course, but... I mean- Is that really necessary? Couldn't you just... Make him tell us the location right away? That would speed things up big time-" He cut himself off when his eyes met the Doctor’s. Werther pinged the bridge of his nose and tried to suppress an irritated groan. "Listen, I promise you that by tomorrow you will have a location, a confession, and most likely the names of the accomplices on tape. _Orderly._ All applicable in court."

They stopped in front of a closed door. "I am a professional. In order for this to work, you need to put your trust in me. Understood?"

Obviously, the chief didn't trust neither him nor his field of work. His lips formed a thin line as he took a step forward, body visibly tensing up. Still, it seemed like after some struggling he was able to control himself and merely handed the doctor a key with an unsatisfied grunt instead of breaking his nose on the spot. "All yours."

The man smiled as he took the key from the chief's hands. The chief was smart enough to know that the polite expression on the Doc’s face translated into ‘please, get lost’ - so he begrudgingly did.

\---

Dr. Werther waited until the hallway was clear before he unlocked the door to the interrogation cell. As anticipated, there was nobody inside except for the suspect. The tabloid picture didn't do him much justice. He looked much older in person, though perhaps that was due to the lack of sleep and high amounts of stress that he must've had endured over the past nights.

Loose strains of ash blonde hair stuck to his forehead that looked like they hadn’t been washed in several days. Beneath the frowning brows were colourless, black-rimmed eyes. They were the one thing that Dr. Werther immediately recognized from the newspaper. Eyes filled with anger.

"Good day, Mr. DeMeo. My name is Dr. Werther." He approached the man who was lounging in an uncomfortable-looking chair, still in handcuffs. The doctor didn’t notice them at first, as Ronnie had rested his feet on the table in front of him, hiding his hands from sight. He had the disrespectful and bold attitude of a man who knew that the outcome of one of the most sensational kidnapping cases to date depended on him alone.

"I meant to ask you if you had a good morning, though for reasons quite obvious that doesn't seem very likely." His presence made the young man straighten his back and his angry eyes became alert. They scanned him from top to bottom and almost immediately, a cruel smile formed on Ronnie's lips. "No fucking way. A shrink? They had me thinking I was about to meet the devil himself. Thought I was getting my thumbs screwed or some shit."

The doctor smiled at that and slowly sat down in front of him. "I'm just here to talk to you. Or would you rather have me screw your thumbs?" There was a hint of panic in the mans eyes, but it was unclear whether or not it was a reaction to the doctor's words or to his odd demeanor. Maybe it was the strange smile or the sharp, unfamliar accent that made the suspect flinch when the doctor bend over slightly to examine his handcuffed wrists.

"Should we do something about this?" Dr. Werther reached into his pocket to pull out the key he had obtained a few minutes ago, and the panic in Ronnie's eyes intensified as he quickly put his feet down and hid his hands under the table.

"I'm talking about unlocking them..." The flagrant amusement in Dr. Werther’s voice clearly irritated the young man once he realized that the Doctor indeed had no medieval torture devices in his pockets. "No need to be nervous."

The boy let out a sneering laugh at the assumption. Why should he be nervous? He knew how to talk to people. Words couldn't scare him.

"So what, we're going to have a chat and then suddenly I realize that I've been following the 'wrong path' of life?"

The boy made no effort to keep the anger so evident in his eyes from bleeding into his voice.

"And all I need to do to change and become a better person is to tell you if I think that a coffee stain looks more like a cow riding a helicopter or an ass with ears. Is that how it's going to be?" Ronnie leaned back in his chair. His hands were back on the table though, and Dr. Werther could tell that he had been nibbling at his fingers.

"Mr. DeMeo. I work with the police. I have no interest in 'healing' you of what ever trauma you might have or might not have experienced."

Unlike the other, Dr. Werther kept his voice calm and professional. Though there was a sharpness, a silent threat, lurking in those stiff words

"Nor am I here to convince you of letting go of the ways that brought you here – I might recommend it – but that's just a personal opinion."

It seemed almost rehearsed, like he wasn't even trying to appear trustworthy. Ronnie’s frown deepened into a scowl.

"Oh, so this is supposed to be some kind of 'enhanced interrogation' then? Like the psycho shit they do with the Russkies? You're gonna trick me into telling you everything you want to know? Can tell you right away, man: that's not going to work."

Dr. Werther chuckled and stood up from his chair. He saw how hard Ronnie had to try to keep himself from flinching this time. "Well, how about we take your handcuffs off first? If you promise me that you won't try to scratch my eyes out, that is."

There was a brief second in which the though of attacking the man towering right in front of him crossed Ronnie's mind. The doctor was tall but lean, and if Ronnie had the benefit of surprise, he might even stood the chance of knocking him out cold. Ronnie looked up to him and as if he had read his mind, Dr.Werther's eyes began to gleam and he smiled, almost daring him to try.

Moments passed and Ronnie knew he had missed his chance. "So?" The doctor held out his hand, holding up the key with the other.

There was some hesitation, but eventually Ronnie gave in and laid both of his locked up wrists into the other man's hands. Dr. Werther immediately started to unlock them, visibly pleased with the obedience of the suspect who really, really wanted to get his hands free.

Instead of returning to his seat, Dr. Werther leaned against the side of the table that Ronnie was sat at. He didn't cross his arms like a policeman would do, but came off just as threatening in his clear invasion of Ronnie's personal space regardless. The boy briefly considered standing up as well, but decided to lean back as far as he could in his chair instead. He was rubbing his wrists as if they were still sore, though Dr. Werther guessed that it was just Ronnie’s way of dealing with the stress.

 

"Now where were we? Right. You wanted to know about my 'interrogation methods'."

Ronnie glanced over to the other side of the table. Apparently, Dr. Werther hadn’t brought anything to this 'interview', no bag, no paper, nothing. And even in the case the man started taking notes, Ronnie wasn’t sure he'd be able to read them anyway. The guy was clearly a foreigner, so perhaps his notes would be in Swedish or Ukrainian or whatever.

"As much as I'd like to keep you guessing, we only have a limited amount of time at hand. So I can tell you right away: I work in the field of hypnotherapy."

The doctor was still looking down on him from where he was standing at the table as he said that, but the boy couldn't help but scoff. His chapped lips formed a crooked grin that spoke volumes about what he thought of the practice.

"Right, so pull out your pendulum and see how well you can hypnotize me when I won't pay a shit of attention to anything you say or do-"

"Oh, you think I'm going to have you stare at a pendulum?!"

The question sounded more like an exclamation, and Doctor seemed almost excited – as if he had hoped for Ronnie to say just that. What had he expected? That Ronnie was some sort of hypnotherapy expert? Of course he wouldn't know what to look for.

"Well that's- I don't know exactly how it works but-"

"So how do you know I haven't already started hypnotizing you?"

Ronnie, who had been about to say something else, closed his mouth abruptly, his eyes widening a bit. It was true, he had no way of knowing how the doctor would go about hypnotizing _him_ , but, the man couldn't possibly have already started, could he? Maybe it was a process way more subtle than Ronnie had imagined it to be. The doctor’s low, humming voice weaving around, hardened consonants, the intense stare of his obscure, watchful eyes... it did seem a bit tranquilizing, didn’t it?

All of the sudden, Ronnie felt paralysed. As if he truly couldn't move. He stared at his hands, trying to focus on them desperately – like he feared they could blur any second. Had the Doctor done something to him when he had unlocked the handcuffs?

"... Is this some MKULTRA shit?"

The doctor chuckled. Not mockingly, it seemed almost genuine. Of course, this program had been the subject of much discussion in the media over the past few months. A huge scandal apparently. Dr. Werther didn't really understand what the fuss was all about. Did the Americans really think that their secret service was good and innocent, and that torture and human experiments were an invention of their evil enemies from the other side of the Atlantic?

"No, I'm afraid not. It's much simpler than that."

It was unnerving, the uncertainty. He felt like a rabbit, caught in the glaring headlights of those strange eyes. Why did the cops have to get a cliché Bond-villain to perform some kind of voodoo on him?! Perhaps they had already filled this room with a gas that would make him fall unconscious. Maybe this was all already a dream and the real him was blabbering about the details of their kidnapping plan.

"Getting dizzy already? Unfortunately, I need you to hold on a little bit longer. I see you're very eager, but before I can really start hypnotizing you, I need to get your blood rushing through your veins a little bit faster."

And with those last words, his hand snapped forward abruptly, his cold fingers pressing down on the thick, defined veins of Ronnie's neck. The index and middle finger were feeling his pulse while the thumb was digging into the soft hollow below his Adam's apple. For a moment there, Ronnie was unable to breathe from the sudden pressure, and as panic started to rise, he channeled all his remaining energy and jumped up. The chair behind him toppled over nosily and Ronnie started lashing out, trying to push the doctor away from him.

There was no need to feel his pulse anymore – his body was clearly rushing with adrenaline and his heart was pumping like it was trying to burst out of his ribcage. The satisfaction on Dr. Werther's face should've been a warning sign that he was exactly where the doctor needed him to be now. The man’s movements were too fast to keep track of, and without even being able to react, Ronnie could feel four fingertips sharply pressing into the back of his neck.

He stared directly into the tall man's eyes that seemed to be pinning him down in some kind of strange, almost supernatural way. Suddenly, Ronnie felt a pressure against his scalp, then the wound on his lower arm and his thigh.

He couldn’t make sure if the doctor was actually touching him as Ronnie’s vision had started to get blurry, and before he knew it, a sharp pain rose from his ankle and made the world around him go dark.

"You are now in a state of shock, Mr. DeMeo. To have you enter the next state, the trance, I need you to listen and follow my words carefully."

The voice echoed from all around him. It was low and soft-spoken, but it still swallowed every other sound or stimulus that might've been in the room.

"If you struggle or refuse to follow my instructions, you will remain in this paralyzing state of shock and risk suffering an intense panic attack or worse."

It was hard to concentrate on the individual words, their meaning, when they seemed to consume him. But the pounding of his heart, the tremors and hot and cold flashes had him fearing he might die. He knew that he was gasping for air, his breath feeling short and uneven in his heaving chest, but he couldn't even hear his own choking.

"To avoid live-threatening complications or the possibility of a heart attack, I must ask you to relax now."

Relax? How was he supposed to relax? Panic boiled in his insides, merely contained by his numb, paralyzed shell of a body. Only the few points that the doctor had applied pressure to were tingling and buzzing painfully.

"Next I will describe a scene to you, and I instruct you to picture it as clearly as possible. Use all of your imagination for this task and don't distract yourself with aberrant thoughts."

There was only one 'aberrant thought' in his mind right now, given the complete and utter darkness surrounding him and his inability to move: Holy fucking shit, I'm going to die and this creepy mad scientist is going to use me for his fucked up experiments.

"Ronnie. You are in danger. Picture yourself hanging from the edge of a cliff, staring down into the gasping, abyssal nothingness below you. "

It wasn't particularly hard to imagine that. In fact, it was pretty damn close to what Ronnie was feeling like right now anyway. He saw himself, nauseous with fear, hanging over the big, wide black of a chasm.

"The bottomless pit does not only symbolize your own death, Ronnie, it also means the one of your friends and loved ones. Of all the people you care about.

Furthermore, it isn't only this death that you fear. It is the complete destruction of the mind. Your willpower. Your dignity.

If you fall down into this pit, the void will tear you apart. Your soul will be demolished. You as a concept will be deconstructed and reshaped. Only a memory of what you used to be will remain to taunt the new you – a mere ruin of the person you once were. The person that wasn't able to save their loved ones.

Picture one of those loved ones. Picture their face, their smile. They are happy to see you, the real you. Not the ghoulish, distorted version of you that you're going to become once you fall into the abyss."

A face flickered up in the darkness, lighting it up like fireworks. His little sister. She was waiting for him back at the warehouse. It was his fault that they had ended up in this situation, and now he was the one that got caught, leaving her behind.

"You don't want to let go of that cliff, right? You don't want to end up like that. Have them end up like that.

The problem is, your arm is getting tired and your strength is leaving you. The stone that you're clenching is brittle and crumbling. The End is inevitable.

But! There is someone standing at the edge of the cliff, reaching out to you. A hand that is willing to pull you up, to save you from the certainty of destruction."

It now seemed like the voice was coming from inside his head, vibrating, pulsing like a vein. The throbbing was getting stronger, feeling like it was drilling holes directly into his head, which then the light hope of salvation dripped into like honey, coating his brain with the sticky, smooth texture. The sweetness followed the excruciating pain his body had had to endure, and even though he was still unable to see, Ronnie knew that there was a hand held out in front of him. He could almost feel the warmth of the skin that radiated around it, almost... All he had to do was reach out and escape the terror and the fear.

"This is the final decision you're going to make, Ronnie. Either you give up and let the abyss devour you or... you choose not to."

Ronnie knew he didn't want to let go of that cliff. He didn't want any of those bad things to happen.

With much effort he reached out to grab the hand in front of him. A warm feeling like sunlight spread from his fingertips throughout his entire arm, and as it consumed him, his vision starting blurring and shifting again. Slowly, some colors and shapes began to reappear through the black spots obstructing his sight. Everything around him manifested in opaque reflections, circulating, like he was staring into a kaleidoscope.

The doctors eyes. They were everywhere.

"You will give up your freedom for your own safety and comfort. I have your best interest in mind, Ronnie. You will be obliged to obey my authority and follow my commands."

Then, the hand pulled him up abruptly and with such an unexpected strength that his heart skipped a beat. He fell into trance almost immediately.

\---

Dr. Werther watched as Ronnie’s wide eyes became glazed and cloudy. The slightly parted lips, the heavy and slow breathing... it was fascinating. Ronnie's head was resting on Dr. Werther's chest. Once the Doctor had pulled him up, all strength and tension had left Ronnie's limbs like someone had cut off the strings of a marionette. His body was hanging onto the other man's, who was still standing against the table.

It was the first time Werther had hypnotized somebody against their will. He had expected more struggle, but then he still wasn’t entirely sure how well it had worked in the first place. "You should stand up straight, Ronnie. Bad posture."

There was a short delay, like he was talking to someone on the phone from the other end of the world. Then, Ronnie straightened his back and looked at Dr. Werther expectantly. "I should stand up straight.”, he repeated. There was no cockiness in his attitude this time, no more nervous playing with his hands. Instead of anger his eyes showed... almost complete nothingness with a hint of confusion. Curling eyebrows that didn't quite manage to form a frown. Was he fighting it?

"Right... Now kneel." This time the delay was longer, but eventually Ronnie went down on his knees. The confused look behind his motionless eyes seemed more prominent now, yet it didn't seem to bleed into his other facial features. Ronnie was still looking mostly dumbfounded, with no indication of any brain activity happening behind his sweaty forehead.

Dr. Werther smiled, satisfied for now. It was interesting to see Ronnie react to his commands. So far, he hadn't disobeyed them. Both the suggestion and the order had worked on him. Maybe that would change once the nature of his requests would start to contradict Ronnie's own and his character. "Good. Very good. Open your mouth."

In retrospect, Dr. Werther somewhat regretted not taking his notebook with him. But this wasn't an experiment, not officially, and he didn't want to leave any traces of what was about to happen in this room. Ronnie was still following his command, parting his lips further slightly.

"Wider. And keep it open." Seeing as kneeling with his mouth wide open was something that Ronnie wouldn't normally do upon request, it only took a few seconds until he was visibly shaking. Part of Dr. Werther wanted to wait until Ronnie’s jaw started to ache, until the spit was dripping out from the corners of his mouth. Unfortunately though, he didn't have much time. He still wanted to test how far he could go, if it was possible for him to control every aspect of Ronnie – mind and body.

With one of his hands he cupped Ronnie's jaw gently, merely brushing the skin like he was holding a glass of wine. He brought the other hand up to Ronnie’s glistening lips. "Please try not to gag. I will be very angry if you do." Pushing in two fingers very carefully, he added: "And you do not want to make me angry, Ronnie. Not ever."

There was no resistance when he started dragging his fingertips over Ronnie’s tongue, his teeth and his gums. Once he pushed his fingers further down however, Dr. Werther could feel Ronnie's throat vibrating. From the short, gurgled sounds Ronnie was making, he could tell that it cost him a lot of effort to control his gag reflex. His body was trembling, back bending slightly as if every part of him was preparing to gag – he just... couldn't.

"Impressive. You seem to have some practice with that."

He grinned, as he pulled his fingers out and wiped their wetness off on Ronnie's shoulder. So it worked as perfectly as it did with his regular patients, but that could still change once Ronnie's subconscious started struggling against the firm grip Dr. Werther had on his conscious mind.

"I must admit, I was rather disappointed with you earlier." Ronnie did react to that. His mouth was still hanging open, as he was instructed not to close it, but his eyes widened with a worried expression. "Resting your feet on the table like that while greeting a visitor... Who taught you your manners?" Doctor Werther shook his head, putting on a steely gaze.

"I'm sorry..." There was concern in Ronnie's voice as he struggled letting his lips to form the words. He didn't sound quite as bland as before. Was he falling deeper into the trance? Perhaps keeping him in a submissive head space was actually increasing the power of the hypnosis instead of harming it.

"’Sorry’ won't do much, I'm afraid. Do you know why you're not supposed to put your feet on the table?"

"It's impolite."

The doctor made a gesture prompting him to continue talking. "Why is it impolite?"

"Because they're dirty."

He almost seemed like a completely different person. A less unpleasant one, most importantly. Then again, if Ronnie had been less resistant and opposed to Dr. Werther in his natural state, this whole thing would probably not work out the way it was supposed to.

"Exactly. Even though you claim to understand this, I don't believe you really do. That's why you will lick my shoes clean." The doctor shifted his weight onto the heel of his left foot and lifted the upper part of the sole, granting Ronnie just enough access that he had to fully crawl down onto the ground to complete the task. "See if it teaches you something about putting your shoes on tables."

Instantly, Ronnie started grovelling, eagerly dragging his tongue over the dusty leather of the doctor's shoes. He kept his eyes locked on the black shoes, fully concentrated on his duty. "Look at me." They locked eyes. Dr. Werther searched for signs of distress or embarrassment in Ronnie’s gaze but instead found dedication and... what almost seemed like heartfelt devotion. A spark of arousal overcame him. He wouldn't wait for Ronnie to finish the other shoe.

"Strip."

Ronnie didn't move. His mouth was still hanging open, tongue covered in dust and dirt. "But... I have to clean your shoes..." It sounded like a revelation.

"You do. But now you want to undress yourself."

Ronnie nodded, still not looking fully convinced. He started taking off his prison overall with shaky hands and soon enough he was bare naked in front of the therapist.

His physique indicated that he had once been in very good shape, strong and sturdy, but was now weakened, muscles turning soft and less defined. His dick was hanging limp between his thighs. Dr. Werther glanced at his wrist watch before his piercing gaze went back to scanning Ronnie's naked body.

"Let's speed this up. Ronnie, stand up and bend over that table." Taking a few steps aside to make room for Ronnie, Dr. Werther continued talking, a new strictness in his tone. "Before you waste your last remaining brain-cells on finding out whether or not you want to do that – please repeat to me the one thing that you already **know** you don't want to do."

"Make you angry." The reply came almost immediately, and as if the full meaning of the words suddenly dawned upon him, Ronnie got up and bent himself over the cold plastic. Dr. Werther waited for him to position himself, then stood directly behind him. He dragged his fingers down Ronnie’s spine as if examining it.

Ronnie laid there, patiently awaiting his orders. "There I thought you had some fight in you. Almost had me believe it..." With his feet, he pushed Ronnie's legs further apart, who slid down slightly upon loosing his halt. "Spread your ass for me."

Dr. Werther took a step back as he watched Ronnie pull his cheeks apart. He started stroking himself over his pants, using the sight to grow hard. "I suggest you start fingering yourself. Stretching will make this easier for you."

The boy was doing it clumsily, clearly unsure of what to do with his fingers, but having Ronnie exposed, gaping his hole, made the doctor's breath go heavy with excitement. It was thrilling to see. Yes, he still considered this his work. An opportunity to try out something new, sure, but most of all work. Still, he was allowed to enjoy it, wasn’t he. Dr. Werther clearly thought so.

"Aren't you thankful I saved you from that cliff?"

"I am!"

The man unzipped himself and pressed his dick against Ronnie's ass. Goosebumps spread over Ronnie’s naked skin. He was still scared. The doctor shushed him, rubbing his wrists as he gently pulled them onto his back. For a second he considered putting him back in handcuffs, just to complete the look, but there was no need for that. Ronnie would put his hands wherever Dr. Werther wanted them to be. "Then show me how thankful you are. Start touching yourself."

The boy fumbled at his dick and the doctor didn't wait before he pushed himself inside. Ronnie's body tensed up and he cried out in pain. Dr. Werther increased his speed immediately, the boy’s screams getting more and more intense with each thrust. Dr. Werther was fucking him roughly, clearly ignoring the squirming and aching of the body buried underneath him. "Shh, be quiet. You like this. You want this."

At this, Ronnie's screaming turned into soft and muffled whimpers, trying to keep up with Dr.Werther's pace. He was still stroking himself frantically, growing harder and twitching with every time that the doctor hit his prostate. "Don't come without my permission." Finally, Ronnie started pushing himself further down on Dr. Werther's dick, moaning inbetween sobs.

Dr. Werther’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of Ronnie's hips as he pulled him closer, riding out the final thrusts that filled Ronnie with his cum. Dr. Werther was panting as he released the boy. He watched Ronnie stand there, his come-filled asshole gaping and twitching. "Turn around and face me. Then you may come."

When the boy turned around, his face was flushed and glistening with tears. Still, he was wearing an ecstatic smile. As he jerked himself off, his subconsciousness and consciousness were clearly fighting over the true nature of his enjoyment. But if the human psyche was complex and powerful, then the _instinctual drive_ was even stronger.

Ronnie came with a choked cry, ejaculating onto the floor. When was standing there, still trembling, his wet eyes fixated on Dr. Werther, eagerly waiting for... something.

"Good boy. But you made a mess..." Ronnie followed the doctor's gaze and found it resting on the puddle of his cum. "You better clean that up."

Before Dr. Werther could even specify his wish, Ronnie got on his knees and started to lick the bitter liquid of the linoleum.

The doctor watched in awe. "A quick learner, aren't we?" He waited a moment, until Ronnie was almost finished, then he took a step towards him and pulled him up by his upper arm. "You did rather well today, Ronnie. But I'm afraid not well enough..." He was keeping him close, both hands groping the boy’s arms, forcing direct eye contact. "So sorry to say this, but I think I’m going to have to throw you into the pit after all."

All color drained from Ronnie's face immediately. "No! Please no! Please! I-I-I'll do better, I will do better next time!" As he begged for his life, his eyes started filling up with tears once again. There was no mercy in the face of he doctor, which Ronnie only realized as he was already falling backwards, having received a firm push against his shoulders.

The world turned dark again.

And it stayed dark for a what seemed like an eternity.

 

\---

When Ronnie awoke, he didn't know where he was. The coldness of the walls and the hardness of the surface he was laying upon indicated that he was back in his cell. He had been here before, so it shouldn't feel as unfamiliar and strange as it did but... He felt different. He felt different inside. Like something of essence had changed. A feeling like that was hard to describe. How do you describe feeling like a different person when the only person you've ever felt like was yourself?

But this wasn't himself. This was someone else. His stomach felt hollow, and it wasn't because he was hungry. His body ached, but it wasn't from pain alone. Pictures were flashing up in his mind. Strange pictures out of a dream. But it wasn't a dream. It wasn't reality either, it couldn't be. He had no memory of it. Ronnie gagged uncontrollably as if choking on something invisible.

The pictures showed him... and that Doctor. He did remember him. Only bits of him, but still, that face made his insides turn and twist. Was it normal to see faces that clear in dreams?

Suddenly, Ronnie started sweating as if the whole room was on fire. He felt hot and cold all at the same time. There he was, on the floor, licking the doctor's shoes. No, he was licking something else off the floor... It couldn't be. It couldn't be real. He would never – he would never let him do that. He would never… why would he do that? Why would he let him do that? These memories had to be fake. They must've planted them inside of his head somehow because he would never -... There was the table and..

Ronnie writhed, sitting up straight in his bed, and threw up the little that was left in his stomach all over himself. He slid out of the bed, falling to the floor like a wet bag. It took him a while to realize he was screaming uncontrollably because he didn't recognize his own voice.

After a while, a guard came.

"Are you fucking insane, screaming like that in the middle of the night?"

"I don't know what happened – I don't- I gotta get out now!"

He was screeching, hyperventilating, almost unintelligible. Tears were streaming over his face and the guard looked concerned.

"You're not getting out any time soon. Tomorrow, you're going to another appointment with Doctor Werth-"

"No! NO! Not him! I can't – anything but him!" Ronnie was crawling on the floor, his hands clenching the cold metal bars as if his life depended on it.

"The- The warehouse! She's in the warehouse!"

"What?"

"The warehouse on Hillcrest Drive! That's where we're keeping her!"

It all started pouring out of him. He kept repeating it like a prayer, a silent plea to god, to whoever. Anything to make it stop. Make the pictures disappear. The memories that were suffocating him, pressing down onto his chest until he was unable to breathe. He wouldn't live through another 'session' with him.

\---

"DONNA PALMER RESCUED. SUSPECT CONFESSES."

The newspaper came out the same day. As promised, it had only taken 10 hours and 45 minutes until the boy had started confessing everything – for the record, under oath, whatever they wanted from him. Dr. Werther couldn't help but smile self-sufficiently when the chief of police told him. Perhaps, this marked the starting point to a whole new career path. However, there would always be a special place in his heart for his first case: Ronnie DeMeo.


End file.
